“Devereux?” she repeated. “There is but one family of that name in Mayo.”
“Of Bally—something.”
“Ballybo?”
“That’s it. Ballybo. Do you know them?”
She gave one short, sharp glance at him. Was this Englishman about to amuse himself at her expense? Was he going to exercise his English stupidity in a practical joke? No; she instinctively felt that Percival was a gentleman and would not dare take a liberty; and she perceived him so full of suppressed mirth that she resolved upon letting him have it all his own way.
“Yes, I know them,” she replied.
“What sort of people are they?”
“Oh! very commonplace, and somewhat old-fashioned in their ways,” hardly able to keep back a burst of laughter.
“I thought as much. I’ll tell you a capital thing that has occurred within the last week.” Here he indulged in a series of gentlemanly chuckles. “I had a letter from Ballyporeen.”
“Ballybo? You, Mr. Percival?” she exclaimed in a surprised way.